


JJ's Round-the-Clock Breakfast Bounty Platter

by pocky_slash



Category: Parks and Recreation, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Crossover, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron makes a friend. As if that's not weird enough on its own, Leslie's pretty sure he's in the mob. (Also, Charles is charming and Erik is the opposite of that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	JJ's Round-the-Clock Breakfast Bounty Platter

**Author's Note:**

> At breakfast, I was talking about how I project on daycare Erik re: his love of breakfast food 'round the clock. **mcwonthelottery** brought up the idea of Erik and Ron Swanson being best friends, we ran with it for a while and... this is the result.
> 
> Theoretically, this is daycare!Charles and Erik (ie: a modern AU where Charles runs a mutant daycare and Erik is his cranky engineer boyfriend), but it doesn't actually fit into the daycare timeline. Also, I would apologize, but that would imply this isn't awesome. Thanks to **heyjupiter** for looking it over! She wrote her own version after I tweeted about this and you should read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/260160)!

Ron Swanson is a man who creates a schedule and sticks to it. His life is highly ordered and over the course of their friendship, Leslie Knope has gotten used to that order. She notices, then, when Ron waves her off when she offers to join him for his usual Tuesday night meat-lover's pizza.

"No pizza tonight," he says, packing up his things. "I'm meeting a friend at JJ's."

JJ's is not Tuesday night. JJ's is breakfast on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and dinner on Saturdays and lunch on every second Sunday. But not Tuesdays.

"What's at JJ's?" Leslie asks. Then, more importantly, "Why aren't you having pizza? You always have pizza on Tuesdays." Then, even more importantly, "Wait, you have friends?"

"Yes, Leslie," Ron says with a sigh, "I do occasionally spend time with people who don't work for the town."

"Since when?" Leslie asks, but Ron is already walking out, calling, "See you tomorrow, Leslie!" over his shoulder as he goes.

***

Ron is Leslie's boss in addition to being one of her best friends, so she really shouldn't pry into his personal life. But he's also one of her best friends, making his personal life sort of her business. But he also hates it when work mixes with not-work, so she should really leave him alone. But he also sometimes gets himself in trouble if he's left to his own devices, so it's in his best interest that Leslie investigate.

But if he asks, she's only at JJ's because talking about it made her crave a waffle like nothing else.

She enlists Ann to help, because Ann's a great co-conspirator and will agree to almost any of Leslie's plans, as long as Leslie doesn't actually tell her that's what she's agreeing to with in the first place.

"Leslie," Ann asks as Leslie kneels behind a mailbox, peering in through the window, "I thought we were going out to eat."

"We are, we are," Leslie insists, pulling Ann down into a crouch so no one sees her. "I just--oh, I dropped my contact lens! Help me look for it!"

"Leslie," Ann says, "you don't wear contacts. Is that Ron?"

Ann tries to wave, silly Ann with more beauty than brains, and Leslie yanks her down again.

"Don't!" she hisses.

"Leslie," Ann asks, "are we here to spy on Ron?"

"What?" Leslie asks. "What? No, of course--I wouldn't spy on Ron, Ann, he's my boss! But if I were spying on him, it would be totally okay because he's also my friend and I'm concerned for his well-being, so that makes it the good kind of spying."

"There is no good kind of spying, Leslie," Ann says.

"There is too!" Leslie says. "There's the evil kind of spying like, you know, Russian guys in trenchcoats stealing state secrets--"

"I think that went out of style with the Cold War," Ann says.

"--and there's the good kind of spying," Leslie continues, "like when you're looking out for a friend or making sure the cheerleaders aren't the ones going through the halls writing 'LESLIE NOPE' on all your campaign posters for class president."

"People did that to you?" Ann asks.

"Every year starting with the election for Kindergarten Teacher's Helper," Leslie says. "Anyway, this is the good kind of spying. I'm making sure Ron's okay."

"And watching him eat dinner will do that?" Ann asks.

"It's not what he's eating, it's who he's with," Leslie says.

Who he's with, his apparent new friend, is a tall, good-looking guy who Leslie's never seen before. They're sitting side-by-side at the counter and they're both eating JJ's Round-the-Clock Breakfast Bounty Platter. The stranger has skipped the sausage in favor of double bacon, a variation known as "The Ron Swanson." No wonder Ron thinks they're friends.

"Do you know that guy?" she asks Ann. Ann shakes her head.

"No, but he's hot. I think I would have noticed seeing someone that hot around town," Ann says. "Do they even know each other? They're not talking."

"Ron said he was meeting a friend for dinner," Leslie says. "Ron wouldn't lie. Probably."

"Well, wherever he's meeting his friends, he needs to share," Ann says. She stands up and grabs Leslie's arm, pulling her to her feet. "Are we going in to talk to them?"

"No!" Leslie says quickly. Ron can't know she was spying, even if it was the good spying.

"Then come on," Ann says. "You promised me dinner. Let's get a pizza. You can interrogate Ron tomorrow morning."

Leslie wouldn't use the word "interrogate." They would have a conversation, that's all. A conversation between two friends to settle the lingering curiosity.

***

"Ron Ron Ron Ron Ron who was that guy? What does he do? He was dressed well. Is he in the mob? Are you in trouble with the mob, Ron? Did you bring the mob to Pawnee? Oh my god--you had Tammy killed, didn't you? Ron, you can't just hire a killer just to get your ex-wife off your back, even if she is a _librarian_! Think of what--"

Ron is barely in the door, his expression switching from confusion to irate resignation within seconds.

"Leslie!" he shouts, and Leslie closes her mouth. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The guy!" Leslie says, following him into his office. "Your 'friend.'" She does air quotes around "friend", just so Ron knows she doesn't buy his story.

"Erik?" Ron asks. "How do you know about Erik?"

"You said," Leslie says, looking at the wall with sudden interest. "Last night. That you were going out to eat with a friend--"

"Did you follow me?" Ron asks, and then sighs. "Of course you followed me." He puts his case down next to his desk and hangs his coat, shaking his head. "He's a friend, Leslie. He's from New York. He's a mutant. He can stir his coffee without touching it and start a car without a key. It's about time we see a mutant around here with a useful power. Tom's mud-touch is just lame. He's not a part of the mob. I think."

"New York is where the mob is!" Leslie says. Ron is going to be murdered by the mob. There are going to be pieces of him scattered all over the state. It will be awful and terrible, even if it means she'll probably be promoted to Parks Director.

"He's not from the mob!" Ron repeats. "If he was from the mob, he'd probably have better things to do than hang around Pawnee."

"But he was wearing that nice jacket and a black turtleneck--that's what the mob wears, right?"

"He's just a guy, Leslie," Ron says. "A guy with impeccable taste in food. Now, would you leave me alone and go do your job?"

Ron is clearly scared for his life, Leslie decides as Ron shoves her out of his office. She _has_ to investigate further. It's the only way to save Ron from sleeping with the fishies.

***

The waitresses at JJ's only know Ron's mob hitman as "that jerk from New York," but Leslie keeps asking around town until she gets a name from the cashier at Al's Discount Liquor Barn. Erik Lehnsherr is--she discovers after a quick call to the credit card company--apparently from White Plains, New York. A few more calls to the credit card company in different accents gets her the name of a handful of different shops and restaurants in Pawnee. Leslie pulls out a city map and, after plotting all of the locations, manages to find a a half-mile range where she thinks Erik must live. There are only like, three dozen buildings in the area and it really doesn't take long to ring the doorbells and peer in the windows of all of them. There's only one guy who will talk to her, a dorky looking guy with a dreamy accent who wrinkles his nose when she asks about mob hitmen.

"I...don't think I know any mob hitmen, no," accent guy says. "But, I am new to the area. I'm just subletting for the summer. I haven't met all the neighbors yet."

"You'd recognize this guy," Leslie insists. "He's very, you know." She gestures mob-like gestures. Accent guy blinks his unnaturally blue eyes at her.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says. "It was lovely to meet you! I've been rather busy; I haven't quite had a chance to meet many people in town yet."

Leslie is torn--she would really love to sit with this not-unattractive guy with a sexy accent and tell him why Pawnee is totally the best place in the entirety of Indiana and probably the United States and probably the world, but she also has to make sure Ron's out of danger.

"You should totally stop by City Hall," she says. "Because--under other circumstances--I would love to tell you all the best parts of Pawnee, but right now--"

"Mob hitmen to catch," the guy says. "I understand, officer. You're a busy, I'm sure."

"Oh, I'm not a police officer!" Leslie says as she runs down the driveway. "I'm Deputy Director of the Parks Department!"

She's technically on the clock, but Ron's her boss, so this is totally work-related.

There's no creepy mob guys in turtlenecks and she really only gets to see inside a half-dozen houses--there are a lot of people who get really bent out of shape when you sneak through their bushes, apparently.

She returns to the office and steps up her search. A google of this guy brings up some engineering firm--clearly a mob cover--and some college in California that has him listed as an alum of master's program in engineering--even more cover--and a college in Pennsylvania that has him listed as an alum with a bachelor's in engineering--the cover is deep--and a news article about a car accident and one line on a webpage for a mutant daycare in White Plains that's clearly a typo or another guy or something. Mob guys aren't allowed to watch kids, probably. "Erik Lehnsherr" is clearly a made-up name, but Leslie keeps digging. Ron is important to her and she can't just sit back and watch as some creepy guy from New York murders him and hides him in the walls of a building.

Or, that probably would make more sense if his cover was a builder. He'll probably hide Ron in a robot. That's even worse. Ron _hates_ robots.

"I'm going to protect you, Ron," Leslie says to herself as she narrows her eyes at the photo of "Erik Lehnsherr" on her computer screen. "Because I know you'd protect me given the chance. If I needed to be protected. Which I don't. But, you know. Maybe. In another reality."

She gets to her feet and marches purposefully out of her office.

She comes back in five minutes later when she realizes she doesn't have her car keys and isn't exactly sure where she's going.

***

She invites Ann out again.

"Are we stalking Ron again?" Ann asks as they pull up in front of JJ's.

"No," Leslie says. It's mostly true.

"Are we stalking Ron's hot friend?" Ann asks. "That's not a deal-breaker, by the way."

"Good," Leslie says. "Because we are."

"Excellent," Ann says, getting out of the car.

Ron's creepy mob friend isn't at JJ's, but Leslie can wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And--

"Do we actually know that he's coming here?" Ann asks.

"Well, no," Leslie says. "But this is the only place I know that he's ever been."

"Seriously?" Ann says. She sighs. "I did my make-up for this."

Still, four hours of patiently waiting in the back booth pays off. The door swings open and Mr. Creepy Mob Turtleneck stalks inside and sits all the way in the opposite booth. It's actually pretty convenient. Leslie's had to pee for like, three and a half hours, and now she can casually stroll by and check him out while, you know, running to the restroom before her bladder explodes. Before she can move, however, Ron comes in and--

Ron comes in and sits down with the mob guy.

"God," she says to Ann, "he's in deeper than I thought. Ann, we need to save him." She pauses. "But first, I really, really need to use the bathroom."

***

When Leslie comes out of bathroom, Ron is turned towards the hall to the restrooms, eyebrows raised.

"Hello, Leslie," Ron says.

"Ron!" Leslie says. "How weird to see you! Because I totally didn't come here to see you! Like, at all."

Ron rolls his eyes. Ron's creepy mob hitman snorts.

"Leslie," Ron says, "he's not a mob hitman. I think." He turns to the mob guy. "Are you in the mob?"

"No," the guy says.

"Well of course he's going to say that!" Leslie says. "People in the mob don't just tell you they're in the mob!"

"I'm really not," the guy says.

"What do you even know about him?" Leslie whispers to Ron, but maybe she's a little upset because she whispers a little louder than she intends to and the mob guy shakes his head and picks up a piece of bacon from his plate, leaning back and watching her with a creepy, totally mob-like smirk.

"I know that he has good taste in food and fine spirits," Ron says. "And he knows when to keep his mouth shut. What else is there to know?"

"Ron--" Leslie starts to say, but someone politely clears their throat behind her. She turns to tell them to shove it, she's saving Ron's life, but it's accent guy and that throws her a little. "Accent guy?" she says.

"Lovely to see you again, my dear," accent guy says. He smiles, but then looks past her to mob guy. "Am I interrupting, darling?"

Something about mob guy changes and he doesn't look so much like a mob guy anymore.

"You're done early, then?" mob guy asks. He slides down the bench of the booth and accent guy steps around Leslie to sit next to him. He steals a piece of bacon from mob guy's plate and waves it in his face.

"You are the world's worst Jew," he says.

"Yes, and you're a model Episcopalian," mob guy says. Accent guy smiles and leans over and kisses mob guy's cheek and--oh god, _he's in the mob too_. Obviously. Oh, of _course_ the accent was a cover, why would someone from somewhere _exotic_ like England come to Pawnee when he could be running around somewhere being all...English? "Ron," mob guy continues, "as much as I've appreciated your advice this week, it's probably in your best interest that you find someone else to eat dinner with. While I've become accustomed to Charles'...personality...you might find it slightly off-putting."

"I love you, too," accent guy says dryly.

"Just my luck," Ann mutters from somewhere behind Leslie.

"I can't believe you're in the mob!" Leslie says. "I can't believe you're bringing the mob to Pawnee! I can't believe I trusted you with your pretty eyes and your sexy accent and your--"

"I'm flattered," accent guy says, frowning at her, "but--"

"Excuse me, I'd prefer if you didn't flagrantly hit on my boyfriend after accusing us both of being criminals," mob guy says.

"You know each other?" Ron asks, looking back and forth between Leslie and accent guy.

"Are you telling people we're in the mob now, Erik?" accent guy asks. Well. Leslie supposes he's Other Mob Guy now. He pokes the first mob guy in the arm. "I told you to play nice and make friends."

"I made a friend!" first mob guy insists, gesturing towards Ron.

"Hey," Ann says. She waves her arm around in the air. "Can someone please explain what's going on?"

***

Ron Swanson and Erik Lehnsherr become friends like this:

Erik sits down at the counter at JJ's diner, leaving one seat between himself and the patrons on either side, as is expected in polite, misanthropic society. Erik orders the Round-the-Clock Breakfast Bounty Platter and a side of bacon.

"It comes with bacon, honey," the waitress says.

"Yes, I can read," Erik says. "And I asked for an additional side of bacon."

The waitress gives him a sour look and then says to the gentleman seated to his right, "Looks like your soulmate just walked in, Ron."

Ron Swanson glances to his left and looks appraisingly at Erik Lehnsherr. Erik Lehnsherr glances to his right and looks coolly at Ron Swanson.

They return, nonplussed, to their meals.

It's Ron who speaks next, when he sees Erik pushing the sausage to the side of his plate as he makes short work of the eggs, waffles, and bacon.

"You know," Ron says, "you can ask them to skip the sausage and double the bacon."

Erik turns to him, eyebrows raised. Ron shrugs.

"Just a suggestion," he says. "I keep telling them they should put it on the menu that way, and not just because they named it after me."

"You come in here a lot, then?" Erik asks dryly. He doesn't know why. He doesn't like people and he certainly doesn't chat strangers up in diners.

"Yep," Ron says. He doesn't know why he's engaging this man in conversation. If he'd wanted a conversation, he wouldn't have sat at the counter, he'd have brought Leslie. "Only place in town to get breakfast twenty-four hours a day."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Erik says. Especially if Charles is going to keep disappearing for 'project team bonding.' "I'm here for eight weeks and this is the first decent meal I've had in the three days I've been in town."

"Burger Palace is good," Ron says. "Most people pass it by because it looks like a pit, but it's the best burger for miles, and they don't bother with any of that lettuce and tomato crap."

"Excellent," Erik says. "The sad excuse for pizza we had last night...well, it doesn't really deserve mention. At least you have a decent liquor store. I didn't expect to be able to get top shelf scotch in the middle of nowhere."

"Ah," Ron says. He likes this guy. Sure, he may look all uppercrust snobby with his turtleneck--seriously--and his leather jacket, but he clearly has his priorities straight. "You must have been by Al's Discount Liquor Barn. I have them bring that in on special request." Normally, Ron does not like to bog down meals with crap like conversation, but he finds himself offering the man his hand. "Ron Swanson. I enjoy breakfast food, bacon, scotch, and--" It occurs to him that sounds like a pick-up line. "--pretty, dark-haired women."

Erik doesn't like talking while eating. Charles is the only one he's ever let get away with it. Still, he's in the middle of fucking nowhere for the forseeable future and this man seems to know all the keys to getting out of it with his sanity. "Erik Lehnsherr," he says. "I enjoy..." He counts in his head. "Five-sixths of those things."

Ron nods. "Let me know if you need any more food or liquor-related advice," he says.

"Indeed," Erik says.

In unison, they turn back to their meals and don't speak again for the rest of the night.

***

"I thought people in the Midwest were supposed to be friendly," Charles says. "I can't believe you managed to find another misanthropic loner in what appears to be a thoroughly charming small town." He keeps poking Erik in the arm. "Honestly. I wanted you to make friends!"

"We're here for eight miserable weeks, not a lifetime, Charles--and don't you _dare_ even _think_ about relocating--"

"I wouldn't," Charles insists. He smiles at Leslie. "I apologize. He can be a bit much."

Erik nods towards Ron and gestures towards Charles. "The same," he says.

"You're impossible," Charles says.

"You're not at all attractive like this," Erik says.

"You're lying," Charles says. He taps his temple. "I can tell."

"Damn telepath," Erik mutters, but even scowling he still doesn't look half as scary as he did before Charles showed up.

Leslie sighs.

She supposes it's good to know that there's no mob presence in Pawnee and that no one's going to kill Ron, but she has to admit that it was a little exciting for an afternoon.

And she was kind of looking forward to having a hot guy with an accent hanging around. It's less fun when he's gay and literally married to the not-mob.

"Well," Ron says, "We'll leave you two alone. Erik, we'll have lunch on Friday."

"Good night, Ron," Erik says.

"Wait, wait!" Charles says. "There's no reason we can't all have dinner together, is there?" He looks from Erik to Ron and then to Leslie and Ann. "Get to know each other? Make some friends?"

Leslie smiles back.

"I'd love to join you guys," Leslie says, sitting down next to Ron, effectively blocking his exit.

"I think I'm gonna take off," Ann says. "Eating at home is less confusing. At least, now that Andy's moved out."

"Good, see you later Ann," Leslie says without turning around.

"I'm dying to hear more about Pawnee!" Charles says. "If we're going to be living here for the next two months, I'd love to know more about the town."

"Oh god, please kill me now," Erik mutters, covering his face with his hands.

"Steel yourself, son," Ron says. "You're stronger than this."

The silverware twists into knots almost mournfully.

"If I can do it without the promise of sex at the end, you can do it knowing you're not sleeping alone," Ron points out. "Remember, with the pretty and the dark hair, you frequently have to put up with the crazy as well."

"I can probably pull the window out of the wall," Erik says. "We can make a run for it."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Ron says.

Leslie launches into the history of Pawnee, cheerfully ignoring the rattling window panes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Restaurant Proximity Associates (The JJ's Diner Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229580) by [metonymy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy)




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